Page 40 of Dark Dragon’s Mate

Emon headed for the pasture where his private flock of dragon-bait sheep were kept. Like the kid said, there was nothing like blood and death to pick your spirits up.

He gave one last beat of his wings and then spread them wide, spiraling slowly downward, his dragon thinking of hot blood and crunchy bones, and the taste of fresh meat. The sheep scattered as his great shadow passed over them, bleating frantically, but there was nowhere for them to escape to.

He was Death on wings.

As he swooped over them, he noticed a patch of white that wasn’t moving with the rest of the flock.

He gave a flap of his wings, banked, and came around again for another look.

It was a dead sheep, huddled at the edge of the field near a tangle of underbrush that bordered a small creek.

Dammit. Another one.

Emon dropped out of the sky, Changing to human and landing on his feet a few yards away, and walked over to check it out.

his dragon complained.

Shut up.

The kill was fresh, no more than half a day old.

He squatted down, checking the wounds, and then turned the creature over. The flesh had been torn and gouged, but there were no bite marks clear enough to identify what had killed it.

He was so focused on the sheep that for a moment he didn’t register the faint sound, barely audible over the burbling of the creek.

A high-pitched bleating—weak and exhausted, and yet still with a note of panic.

He rose to his feet and made his way to the thick underbrush at the edge of the creek. He parted the branches carefully, thorns stabbing at his hands.

Caught in the middle of the bramble patch was a lamb. The dead sheep must have been a nursing mother. Damn those Wild Dragons all to hell.

his dragon said dubiously.

Emon ignored him. The lamb was sagging with weariness—it had probably run away in panic when its mother was killed and been stuck here ever since, crying for help. When it saw him, though, its eyes dilated with fear and it struggled to get away.

Because everybody loves a predator.

Emon untangled the lamb, then lifted it up and cradled it his arms. The silly little thing was bleeding from multiple puncture wounds, and it looked like one of its legs might be broken.

He stroked the lamb’s head, and it immediately changed its tune, snuggling into his arms and sucking on one of his fingers. It was fucking adorable. And probably starving.

He sighed. We’re not eating it.

His dragon sounded puzzled.

True. More than one lamb from this very flock had ended up on Emon’s dinner table, not even counting the sheep his dragon ate.

Damn all little fuzzy animals anyway. Baby things were like that, sneaking up on you with their big eyes and cuteness. It was just Nature’s way of trying to sucker you out of killing them.

And it was working. But what was he going to do with a lamb?

The answer came to him immediately. Trish.

his dragon pointed out.

She’s tired from last night. And she won’t know how to take care of it once it’s healed. Trish would be better.